Storms
by BrujitaGuerita
Summary: A sad, short story about the horrors that take place under the Malfoy roof.


Storms  
  
Draco Malfoy was glad he missed Prof. Lupin's Defense Against The Dark Arts lesson on boggarts. For if he had been given a chance to face it, Draco was sure it would have taken the shape of his father.  
  
Draco dreaded going home from Hogwarts even more than Harry Potter did. At least Harry got to stay at the school over the Christmas holidays.  
  
Draco took great pains to hide these feelings. He would pretend that he couldn't wait to get home, and make loud, rude comments about how sorry he felt for those who weren't wanted at home…  
  
Because no one could know. No one must ever find out, his father would kill him. (Draco had no doubt, as his father had told him this himself.) No one must find out about the Storms.  
  
The Storms. That was what Draco called his father's secret drunken rages, for indeed, when drunk, his father bore down upon him like a fierce hurricane.  
  
Draco was home for summer vacation. It was was 6:28 PM. His father always arrived right on time at 6:30-that is, unless a Storm was coming.  
  
6:29. Draco started to sweat. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, and his breaths came out as ragged, irregular gasps. His ears strained to hear the front door open. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire being fixated on that door, willing it to open.  
  
"Please," he whispered through clenched teeth. "Please open…please come home on time…don't be late, please, please don't be late…please, please, please…please, oh, please…please…"  
  
6:30. Draco sat on his bed, knees drawn up to his chin, uttering this same intonation over and over, his eyes fixed on the silver watch around his wrist, as though it could protect him from the Storm that would inevitably come, if his father was late.  
  
He watched the long, spindly second hand ticking closer and closer to the 12 at the top. It was barely past the 10…now almost to the 11…half past the 11…almost to the 12…Draco begged the watch to stop; stop, and wait for his father…one second away…  
  
The second hand reached the 12. Everything stood still for Draco-including his heart. All was silent. Then, slowly, infinitely slowly, the minute hand swung down with a sound like a drum, to rest at 6:31.  
  
His father was late. A Storm was coming.  
  
Draco considered (like he did every time his father was late) running away until his father was sober again. But then he thought about his mother, and decided he couldn't leave her alone with Him. He would stay for his mother.  
  
His mother. Once so beautiful, so happy. Draco could remember that first Storm with perfect clarity, as though it had happened yesterday.  
  
He was eight years old. Lucius Malfoy had arrived home in a drunken rage, and had started screaming at Draco, telling him what a stupid, worthless, lazy son he had. This had scared Draco immensely, as he has never seen his father act this way before. He had begun to whimper, but was shocked into silence when his father backhanded him across the mouth. He had never been struck before in his life, and was ready to start crying, when his father screamed "Don't! Don't you dare cry! Grow up! C'mon, now, be a man!" He slapped him again. Draco couldn't help it, the sobs had just escaped from him, which only enraged his father further, and he had fallen to beating him all over his body.  
  
Draco's mother, Narcissa, had tried to protect him, standing between her husband  
  
and son.  
  
Lucius Malfoy had punched Narcissa in the face with all his drunken might, with the warning that if she should ever interfere when he was "teaching his son a lesson", he would kill her.  
  
He had broken his wife's nose, as well as a blood vessel in her upper lip. It had hemorrhaged internally for several hours, before clotting around and stiffening a large muscle in her lip, giving her a distinct sour expression.  
  
Narcissa had never tried to stop her husband from beating her son again, but she tried to make it up to Draco by sending him massive parcels of sweets during his stays at Hogwarts, and buying him and the rest of the Slytherin quidditch team Nimbus Two-Thousand and One broomsticks, ordering them in her husband's name.  
  
These memories occupied Draco's thoughts as he waited apprehensively for his father to come home. He went downstairs to his mother, so she could perform the Silent Spell on him. (The more Draco screamed, the more his father would beat him, so his mother decided it would be best if he was made so he couldn't scream at all.)  
  
In the kitchen, Narcissa started when she heard Draco enter. Her face was pale. "He's late." Draco said woodenly, avoiding his mother's gaze.  
  
Narcissa nodded. "I know." She fought down the lump that was rising in her throat. Eyes smarting, she held her arms out to her son. "Come here." Draco crossed the room, into his mother's open arms. "I love you, Draco." she whispered, smoothing his hair. Draco felt warm inside, despite his fear. "I love you, too, Mum."  
  
Narcissa discreetly wiped the tears from her face, and, pulling away, picked up  
  
her wand. "Ready?" she asked him gently. Draco nodded, his throat tight, once again avoiding eye contact.  
  
Narcissa raised her wand, uttering "Silencio!" in a small, but clear voice.  
  
A faint blue glowing light appeared on Draco's throat. The light slowly grew until it was the size of an apple, before detaching itself from his throat, and flying over to the tip of Narcissa's wand, which gobbled it up. Narcissa felt a sob rising in her chest, she hugged her son again.  
  
They heard the front door open and slam violently, shattering one of the panes of glass in it. Draco's stomach contracted in fear as he heard heavy, unsteady footsteps thudding up the stairs, and that dreaded slurred voice, angrily calling his name.  
  
He felt queasy, and almost bolted from the house, but the look of absolute terror on his mother's disfigured face made him stay. Draco knew that if his father couldn't find him, he would substitute his mother for him, and beat her instead.  
  
"DRACO!" came his father's fearful call.  
  
Draco squared his shoulders and stood a little taller, trying to be brave for his mother. He managed a shaky smile for her. He turned to go upstairs. "I love you!" she said again. He stopped, one hand resting on the door frame. He turned back to her slowly, mouthing the words back to the one person he loved most in the world.  
  
Draco turned again and walked headlong into the Storm. 


End file.
